Flashes Before Your Eyes
by Trish47
Summary: COMPLETE! "It's when his head bounces off of the office floor that it happens. White. A flash. He has to blink because it hurts to see such light. It hurts to see. To see." An office accident temporarily gives Auggie his sight back. A/A
1. One

**Much like how I claimed I'd never write a holiday story, I said that I would never take up this topic. Guess that "never say never" phrase applies here. I had this crazy idea, and after going over it with a friend, decided to share (thanks Phoenix!). So, apologies if you've read other " Auggie's sight returns" fics, but I think I have something unique to offer here. Give it a chance?  
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**Strangely, I came up for the title for this one first (_never _happens), and the story came naturally out of it. Hope you enjoy!**

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><p><em>Flashes Before Your Eyes<em>

_**_One**_  
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"Were you using this to spy on your neighbors?"

He carefully lays the telescope on the edge of his desk, chuckling at her teasing, faux-suspicious tone.

"Me use Company toys for my own benefit?" he scoffs lightheartedly. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."

Annie's heels carry her over to stand behind his chair, and Auggie feels the space over his shoulder shrink as she leans forward to read the computer screen.

"What is all this?"

"Just the modification specs. I've tweaked a few things," he tells her as he prints out the sheet of adjustments to be made to the current telescope model. With a couple of technical upgrades and a few minor alterations and additions he's designed, the mid-sized telescope will be able to count the number of hairs on a person's arm standing 100 yards away.

Annie pulls back, standing straight again and walking back and forth, probably killing time after finishing her paperwork. In all the years he's been with the Company, he's never come across a person who can speed through tedious forms and reports quite as fast as she can.

"I thought that the tech team just sent this up with the new changes," she comments, indicating the telescope by tapping the top of the glass desk as she passes by.

"It's not equipped with audio yet," he explains, "which is why it's being sent back to the tech house for more upgrades."

When his project is complete, the telescope will also be able to digitally record any audiovisual information. They'll be able to set the telescope up in remote locations and capture everything on tape without risking agent exposure.

"Doesn't this telescope make human recon missions obsolete?" Annie asks. "You tryin' to put me out of a job?"

He knows it's a joke, but one day Auggie hopes to find a way to operate the telescope like a remote-controlled car. That way, no agents will have to go into the field for simple, or overly dangerous, recon missions.

"Not obsolete, just safer," he says. "Plus, it's going to be a while before it's approved for field anyway."

Right now—even with the changes he has planned—the equipment is still too large and too heavy to make it completely self-operated and mobile. He'll just have to be happy with a glorified security camera, which is really what it is, except this "camera" has a much farther range and can zero in on specific human voices clearly while keeping static—environmental sounds or other interference—to a minimum.

"You might want to tone down that smile," Annie says, her own grin evident in her voice. "People might actually think you enjoy doing your job."

His smile grows at her teasing. "It's pretty amazing isn't it?"

She laughs. "From anyone else that comment would be incredibly egocentric."

"I can't help it if I'm a genius," he tosses back casually, folding his hands behind his head in a display of smug pride to make her laugh, though in truth, he is pretty pleased with himself and what he's created.

"Knock, knock."

The new voice brings an end to their conversation, and Auggie returns to the task at hand.

"Stu!" he says in greeting as he stands. "Ready to take my baby back to the tech house?"

"Convenient lackey, at your service," Stu responds. "This it? I was expecting something smaller."

He lifts the telescope from Auggie's desk. A small grunt escapes him as he hoists it up over his shoulder.

"Handle with care, please. She's fragile," Auggie says. "Not to mention she's worth about fifty G's."

"Seriously?"

Auggie hears the heel of Stu's shoe grind against the floor as he pivots. He feels the disturbance in the air in front of his face as Stu turns. But what he can't do is see what's coming.

"Auggie, look out!" Annie yells too late.

There is no time to react. Her sentence isn't even completely finished when the hard, cylindrical body of the telescope hits him in the side of the head, full force.

The blow is so unexpected that his body tips to the left; his knees buckle and twist, and he loses his footing, dropping to the ground. The left side of his head connects with the edge of his desk on the way down and he's infinitely thankful that the desk doesn't have any sharp corners.

"_Auuuuuuuuuuuuggieeeeeeeeee_!"

His name falls from her lips sounding like an exclamation in a slo-mo sequence in an action movie. His right ear rings from the contact with the larger end of the telescope. The sting burns and makes his ear pound painfully with every thump of his heart.

Finally the left side of his body crashes to the floor of his office, pushing the air from his lungs on a half-groan. From the time he is hit to the moment he lands on the floor, two seconds pass, but the time seems to stretch out.

It's when his head bounces off of the office floor that it happens.

White.

A flash. Not stars or the multi-colored dots that come with too much pressure. This is brighter, fuller, more real. It reminds him of halogen bulbs that might light an office. He has to blink because it hurts to see such light. It hurts to see. To _see_.

But when he opens his eyes again the white is gone. The black is as dark as ever, darker even, after such light.

He groans and raises his hand to where it feels like a bruise might already be blooming on his cheek. He won't be surprised if the blow leaves him with a black eye. Warm blood trickles from his hairline, past his temple, and along the curve of his jawbone.

There are two sets of hands touching him. The first is soft, feather-light on the center of his ribcage and the back of his shoulder, holding him in place with negligent pressure. The second pair is larger, heavier, and trying to push him up to a sitting position, which Auggie allows and immediately regrets. Another groan escapes him.

"Stu, go call an ambulance," Annie orders.

"No." Auggie struggles to protest, still a little dazed from the hit and what he thinks he saw. "No, I don't need an ambulance."

"You're bleeding," she responds. "It looks pretty deep."

He shakes his head a little to dismiss her worry.

It happens again. Another flash. But this one has more. More colors. More shapes. The images are fuzzy and more like outlines, but they're there. He keeps himself from blinking for as long as he can, but when he does, the images disappear once again.

"Auggie?" Annie asks, one of her hands moving to the side of his head that wasn't hit by the whirling telescope. "What is it?"

"I'm okay," Auggie tries to assure her, even though he's lying. He has to be imagining things, because it isn't possible for him to be seeing anything. It's just not.

"See?" Stu says somewhat nervously. "Augs is fine. Just a little bump."

The Tech Ops analyst grasps Auggie underneath his armpit and yanks upward to help him stand, but Auggie isn't far enough away from his desk, and his head connects with the underside of the glass painfully.

"God dammit!" Auggie swears loudly.

Stu lets go of him, letting his backside hit the floor again. Auggie closes his eyes and tries to rub the soreness away from the crown of his head.

"Stu!" Annie exclaims. "I swear if you don't go and call an ambulance. . ."

"On it!" he says, hastily rushing to the phone. "I am so, _so_ sorry Auggie."

Grumbling and ready to continue arguing with Annie about not needing to go to the hospital, he opens his eyes, half-expecting another flash.

Instead, what he sees—yes _sees_—is a forehead furrowed in concern, chocolate brown eyes staring at the blood dribbling down into his right eyebrow, and long blonde hair framing the near-angelic face floating before him.

Then he blinks.

But the face is still there, in even more detail.

He traces the slight 'M' of her glossed lips and notices the flecks of amber-gold coloring her irises. Has he ever seen a woman this beautiful? His imagined mental picture of what Annie Walker looks like doesn't do her justice. Not. Even. Close.

His sudden stillness must alert her that something is seriously wrong because her eyes drop from the wound near his temple to his eyes. He watches her face pale as his eyes continue to widen.

"Auggie?" she asks again, but this time it's a whisper. "Are you okay?"

He closes his eyes one more time, prepared to lose her. His vision remains. He blinks again and again, but the results are the same. Auggie can feel tears flooding the bottom rims of his eyes, but he wills them back before they can distort the world around him. He's just regained the ability to see, and he's not going to let tears take it away from him now, especially since he doesn't know how long it will last.

"The hospital might be a good idea," he says slowly.

"Ambulance is on its way."

He'd almost forgotten Stu was in the room.

"What's going on?" Annie asks, but from the way she's looking directly at him, he thinks that she already knows. She's probably wondering the same thing he is: how is this possible?

"Annie, I can see you."

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><p><strong>AN: Well? What do you think so far? Want to know how this happened and what Augs is going to do now? Stay tuned.**

**As always, I adore reviews and comments. What would you do if you were in Auggie's shoes?  
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**And yes, the title comes from "Lost." Hehe. XD  
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	2. Two

**My, oh my. The response to the first chapter has left me absolutely stunned. *_* (This, apparently, is a stunned/dazed emoticon.) You guys rock!**

**Thanks again to Phoenix, who nit-picks like none other. ;) Oh, and I forgot this last time: I don't own Covert Affairs or it's amazing characters. Alas!**

**I'm just gonna get down to it. Hope you enjoy the chapter!  
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><p>**Two**<p>

Auggie insists that they don't tell Joan or their other coworkers anything about the telescope accident until they know for sure what's going on. So, after Annie swears Stu to absolute secrecy, she guides Auggie as she normally would outside of the building to meet the ambulance. It's a challenge to keep up the appearance of being blind, especially since he's never seen the new DPD Command Center.

"We really do have windows," he whispers as they head toward the elevators.

Once they arrive at the nearest hospital ER, he's taken away for an array of tests and scans. Auggie does his best to remain patient, but after spending five hours in and out of CT machines and multiple exam rooms—and still having no answers about why his vision suddenly returned—the irritability starts to set in.

Around eight o'clock, he's wheeled into another exam room. Annie is inside, waiting for him. She places a brown paper bag in his lap. Inside are a turkey sandwich and a bottle of water.

"Thanks," he says, smiling in true appreciation. Shoveling hospital food into his empty stomach would only make him more irritable at this point.

"Did they tell you anything?" she asks.

He shakes his head minutely, still afraid that too much movement will cause him to lose his sight again.

"How'd you smuggle this past the nurses' station?" he asks around a mouthful of meat and bread. "Or yourself for that matter?"

"I told the nurse I was Annie Anderson," she says, "your sister."

His laughter nearly makes him choke on his food. "And the nurse believed you?"

Her mischievous smile gives away her answer. "No, but I got in anyway."

"It was a male nurse, wasn't it?" he asks as he finishes the sandwich.

"Maaaaybe." She draws the first vowel out in a teasing tone that makes him chuckle again.

As much as he dislikes the idea of her flirting her way past hospital staff, he's glad that Annie's here now. If it weren't for her, he'd probably be more anxious than he already is, though he's still plenty nervous to find out what's going on with his head.

Annie starts pacing, but the room is so small that she covers the area in four strides each way. He watches her in the silence that falls easily between them. The stiletto heels he's so used to hearing lengthen her legs nicely. His eyes travel up from her feet slowly, taking in the curve of her backside, the slim, athletic build of her upper body. She clasps her elbows with her hands, holding her folded arms in front of her. Her face is set in contemplation and concern. While he's not attuned to her facial expressions, he can practically feel the worry and the tension exuding from her, can hear it in her steady footfalls.

"No need for you to frown," he says casually, wanting to lighten the mood again while they wait for the doctor. "If I remember correctly, and I may not be considering I just suffered head trauma, it was me who was hit upside the head. Not you."

She stops pacing and sits in an empty chair opposite from him. "I just don't like seeing you hurt."

"This?" he asks, indicating the small gash near his hairline that required twelve stitches. "This is nothing."

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Oh right," he says, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it into the trashcan. "Almost forgot being able to see is a problem."

He says it so she can't miss his sarcasm, and his efforts change her frown into a near scowl. Annoyance or anger flashes across her eyes at his snarky comment, but she doesn't respond. Auggie kicks himself mentally for projecting his anger at her, but sarcasm has always been his go-to defensive maneuver.

In truth, he's terrified. There is no logical reason he can think of to explain the sudden return of his vision. The explosion that took his sight damaged both of his optic nerves irreparably; the connection between each of his optic nerves and maculae were completely severed according to his previous surgeons and ophthalmologists. Science dictates that it should be impossible for him to see, and he has always been a man of science, not a man of faith. He doesn't believe in miracles, at least not where his vision is concerned.

Annie has known him long enough to understand that sometimes anger or fear gets the best of his tongue. She knows that he's angry at the situation, the lack of answers, not her.

"I just hope it's not serious," she says quietly.

"You and me both."

Auggie rises from his wheelchair and picks up Annie's pacing habit. He detours from her route and goes into the adjoining bathroom, stopping in front of the sink. It's been more than two years since he last looked in a mirror. The face staring back at him seems almost foreign. A deep blue, almost purple, bruise crawls up the right side of his face and underneath his right eye. The gauze bandage covering the stitched gash on his forehead is mostly covered by his hair. His skin looks rougher than he remembers, but that may just be from the five o'clock shadow that has sprouted a little late in the day. It's strange to look at himself after so much time.

He's not sure how long he stands there, assessing himself, but he's pulled away from his reflection when another figure appears in the glass. Her arms are still crossed, but she's smiling. He returns it with a grin of his own.

"I'm pretty darn handsome," he says.

"Don't forget modest," she responds.

"So you agree with me."

She rolls her eyes, the smile widening. "Just because you're injured doesn't mean I'm going to feed your ego."

He laughs and looks back at his reflection one more time. "I look like Two-Face."

He turns around with one hand covering the battered side of his face. "Now I'm good-guy Auggie. . ." he says, then switches to cover the unmarked side of his face, "and now I'm badass Auggie."

Annie shakes her head. "Well, if you're making Batman jokes, you must be okay."

Two raps on the exam room door pull them away from the momentary humor and back into the tension brought on by uncertainty. The doctor enters the room as Auggie and Annie take their seats again.

"Hello, Mr. Anderson," the redheaded neurologist that oversaw his earlier tests says in greeting. "I'm sorry for the delay, but there were some minor complications with your CT scans."

"That's not the most reassuring news to open with," he says, going back to the sarcasm. He just wants to find out what's wrong and if it can be fixed, assuming it needs fixing.

The woman is slightly flustered by his rapid retort, looking down at her clipboard for the answers. She finds her footing and begins again. "Except for your vision, everything seems to be in order. You're not concussed. No hemorrhaging, clots, or intracranial pressure."

"What's the catch then? Why did it take this long to tell me everything's fine? Clearly, it's not."

"The CT scans were distorted because of metal fragments. That's why we had to rescan you."

"What metal fragments?" Annie asks.

He tilts his head in her direction, but keeps his focus on the doctor, trying to get a read on her. "From my accident. There was a shard of shrapnel it was too risky to remove. The operation could've killed me."

"I can't confirm that since your previous medical records haven't been released to us concerning that incident," the doctor says with a frown as though she's the one who has been inconvenienced.

He supposes that is one downfall of not being taken to a government hospital. All of his medical records concerning injuries sustained during field operations are classified and unattainable.

"Do you think the shrapnel has something to do with why I can see?"

"No," she says, "not at all."

The doctor places the CT scan on the light board mounted on the wall so that she can explain her findings with a visual aid. Auggie peers at it closely, trying to discern the source of his sight from the picture. There are two small dots on the scan, near the front of his brain. He can't begin to guess what they are though, other than metal fragments.

"According to this scan, there wasn't any shrapnel."

It doesn't make any sense. There has to be shrapnel in his head. He's been walking through Langley security every day with a medical card to get through the metal detectors his head routinely sets off. But from the images he's being presented with, the doctor is right. There is no shrapnel, just two smaller, almost refined looking fragments. Someone has lied to him, in one way or another.

His mind is still processing the information when Annie speaks up. "But aren't those metal fragments on the scan?"

"Yes, they appear to be. They almost look like surgical implants, but I'm not familiar with this model or its function."

"But where did they come from?" Annie continues. "Wouldn't Auggie remember if he had implants surgically inserted?"

The doctor turns from Annie to Auggie, looking at him expectantly. "I was hoping Mr. Anderson would be able to answer that."

Yeah, he wishes he could answer that question too. But he can't. Because he has no idea how those two pieces of metal got inside of his head. No effin' clue. The feeling that he's been betrayed by someone keeps circling around his mind, taunting him. How could he not know about this?

"I haven't had any operations since Tikrit," he grinds out.

His tone is a clue to the doctor that he wants answers now, that he doesn't have any more information he might be holding back. She points to the dots on the scan, drawing invisible circles with the tip of her capped pen on the printout that do little to help him understand the anatomy of it all.

"The fragments are attached to your optic nerves," she says. "I can't say for certain, but your fall may have dislodged them from their original position, which is why you can see now even though you couldn't before. Think of it as an appliance with faulty wiring. If you move the wire an inch to the left, it turns on. Move it an inch to the right, it turns off."

Her explanation makes some sense, but there is still one question that she hasn't answered. It's probably the most important question, as far as he's concerned. And there has never been more at stake riding on a single answer than there is now.

He takes a deep breath. "Was it these fragments that made me blind?"

"Not as far as we can tell," she says. "There's still significant damage to your optic nerves. The metal is acting as a conduit, a connection, between the optic nerve transmitters and the neuro-receptors that tell your brain what your eyes are seeing. Without that connection, you'll be just as blind as you have been for the past two years."

Auggie nods and falls silent, thinking.

Once again, it is Annie who breaks the silence, stepping in just when he needs her to. "What's the next step?"

The doctor turns off the light board and removes the CT scan, tucking it away in a large envelope before responding. "I highly recommend surgery to remove the metal fragments. It could be dangerous to keep them in place. One more bump, however small, could disturb the metal and potentially damage other areas of the brain."

"But," Auggie states, "if I get the surgery, I'll go back to being blind."

"Yes."

He appreciates the upfront answer after all of the uncertainty. "Do I have some time to think about it?"

"Of course," the doctor says. "I understand it will be a hard decision. However, in my opinion: the faster you have the surgery, the better."

After a few parting words of caution and a reiteration of the importance of the surgery, Annie and Auggie are allowed to leave.

Spending nearly seven hours in a hospital should leave him feeling more weary, more drained. But the desire to know the truth about the metal fragments in his head burns in his blood, fueling him with angry energy. Somehow, some way, the Company is behind this. It has to be.

As they reach Annie's Volkswagen, he says, "I need you to take me somewhere."

"Where to?" she asks.

"The Campbells'."

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><p><strong>AN: So, this chap was a little on the science-y side, but I had to explain what was going on inside Auggie's noggin'. I tried to research as much of the medical stuff as possible, but apologize if there are any gross errors. I also clearly took some liberties with Auggie's medical history. *Waves creative license and grins***

**I admit to being addicted to your reviews and thoughts. XD  
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**Special shout-outs to my non-registered reviewers: Sam V, nw, and Madil93! Zoraya h, I hope you weren't too upset. My fingers just don't type that fast. :)  
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	3. Three

**I had some trouble with this chapter, but with Beth's (much appreciated!) help and advice, I'm finally happy with how it's turned out. Thanks, Beth!**

**I really can't thank everyone enough for all the support and interest you've shown in this story. Enjoy!**

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><p>**Three**<p>

He has very few memories of being this angry—the kind of angry where his jaw is continually clenched, his hands are balled into fists, and he has the urge to pummel something. In fact, he can only think of two other moments when he's been this full of utter loathing.

The first was when he was ordered to break it off with Natasha because of CIA regulations. He'd only calmed down after realizing that it was his fault for falling for a foreign national with a major rebellious streak who was also wanted by the FBI and the Russian mob. He was the one who broke the rules, and he paid the price.

The second instance was after he'd learned he'd been blinded by an IED. He'd had a good period of being angry then too, but the anger wasn't directed at anyone in particular. He'd blamed God, himself, his squad leader, even the DCS and the President of the United States. But, in the end, the loss of his vision wasn't anyone's fault. It was an accident.

The refined metal fragments—which, now that he's thinking about it, almost resemble small discs—behind his eyes are not accidental, and they aren't a form of cruel and unusual punishment. They were put there deliberately under orders from someone at the Company. He doesn't know why yet, or for what reason specifically, but he does have a prime suspect: Arthur Campbell.

Auggie stares out of the passenger window, half-watching the streetlights zoom by as they make their way through the city, heading to the more suburban part of town. If he weren't so preoccupied with forming a list of questions for the Campbells to answer, he'd probably marvel at how beautiful the city looks at night, illuminated by a combination of different artificial lights; however, his focus remains on the upcoming confrontation with his superiors. He won't give himself the false hope that this matter can be settled with civil, level-headed conversation. He's not exactly concerned with being civil at the moment anyhow.

The only reason he isn't in full out rage mode—a place he swore he'd never revisit—is because of the one answer he already has: the metal discs are not what caused him to go blind in the first place.

If that answer had been different, if the surgery to insert these unapproved discs behind his eyes had stolen his vision from him. . .his jaw grinds painfully just considering the prospect.

The fact is that he'd be blind regardless of the unidentified tech in his head. For that, he's strangely thankful. His employers may have betrayed him by implanting metal discs in his head, but they didn't intentionally give him a major disability.

Different theories—some rational and others downright preposterous—keep interrupting his train of thought. He keeps visualizing the CT scan, trying to figure out what those two refined metal discs could be. Though disc-like, they almost remind him of microchips, but he doubts they're any sort of GPS device. Those chips can be surgically implanted in much less invasive areas.

Auggie focuses on the location of the disc-chips—directly behind his eyes, attached to the optic nerves. What if the chips are programmed to pick up the electric signals his eyes send to his visual cortex? He may not be able to see, but that doesn't mean his eyes are broken. His pupils still dilate, and his retinas are able to decipher light and color the same way they could before his accident. The reason he's blind is because of damage done to his optic nerves; his brain doesn't receive any signals sent from his maculae to his optic nerves. But with these discs. . .if they closed the gap and rerouted the images. . .

"Those sons of bitches," he swears loudly into the silence inside the car.

The Volkswagen swerves as Annie startles with his sudden outburst. "What?"

"They turned me into some kind of human camera."

Since he's still staring out at the cityscape, he can only hear the skepticism in her voice. "'They' as in the Company?" she asks. "How can you be sure?"

"They're the only ones with access to that kind of tech and my brain," he explains, the edge of his initial anger lingering in his voice.

One thing Auggie has absolutely no doubt about is the time-frame the discs were implanted. He went into Iraq with no metal in his head, and when he came back, he had a medical card to get through airport security. He'd been told that the surgeons had left a fragment of shrapnel inside his head because attempting to remove it could have been fatal. That lie he'd so easily accepted was given to him by his commanding officer. All Auggie has to do is follow the lie in reverse, up the chain of command. Though he wasn't working under Arthur at the time of his accident, it's likely his file was still active.

"A camera. . ." Her voice trails off as she considers the probability of his theory. "How is that possible? _Is_ that even possible?"

"You've worked with all sorts of cameras. They can fit in practically anything: cell phones, nanny cams, lipstick tubes."

"But an eyeball?" she questions.

He can see she's having a hard time accepting his camera hypothesis, though he can't blame her. Still, the more he thinks about it, the more right his theory feels. There are reasons photographers named the "lens" after the human eye.

"Annie, I've been around all kinds of tech since I was five-years-old. I know a camera when I see one."

She remains silent for a moment, taking in the conviction of his tone and what it could mean. Then she asks, "So, what're you going to do?"

"Get answers."

"No," she says, shaking her head and lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "I meant about the surgery."

"Oh," he says. "I. . .I don't know yet."

It's a lie. He's already made up his mind.

From the moment he stepped out of that exam room with the caution from the surgeon that the longer he waits, the more he puts himself at risk, he's been sure of only one thing: the metal discs have to come out. Leaving them in place, floating around his head, could damage other parts of his brain and he's not willing to risk it. Plus, if the Company is using him as a subject for some type of secret technology experiment, he's not going to accommodate them.

Auggie hates to keep his decision from Annie, but he's not ready to tell her. He can only focus on one fight at a time. Even though he's sure that convincing Annie that his choice is the only choice won't be as intense as the battle before him, she doesn't need to know about his decision just yet.

Looking for some way to steer their conversation away from the topic, Auggie becomes aware of what neighborhood they've entered. "I didn't give you an address," he comments, somewhat baffled.

"No, you didn't."

"So, how do you know where our bosses live?" Now his curiosity is piqued.

"You're not the only person who likes to know who they're working for," she responds with a smile he could get used to seeing.

"But I did think I was one of few people who could hack into that kind of information," he says with a small grin. "Impressive, Ms. Walker."

He sobers quickly when they park against the curb outside of the Campbell household.

"We're here," Annie says unnecessarily as she turns off the engine.

Auggie looks toward the impressive brick home with its white columns and precisely trimmed box-bushes. There's a light on upstairs. He takes a long, deep breath, but it doesn't do anything to calm him down.

This is really going to happen. He's going to confront his superiors—possibly the most powerful couple within the Company—and demand answers that he very likely wasn't ever intended to have.

Annie's suit jacket rustles beside him and suddenly he realizes that she means to get out of the car with him and go up to the house. He's not sure that's the best idea. He doesn't want her to be punished for his actions.

He lays a sturdy hand on her shoulder and waits until she meets his eyes. "Annie, I'm not leaving here without answers."

"But—"

His fingers tighten around her shoulder, and his gaze feels heavy with the warning he's trying to convey. Like he expects—because when has she ever stepped down in the face of adversity like she should?—he catches the fire in her eyes. He does admire her bullheadedness to an extent, but he needs her to fully comprehend what she's getting herself into by accompanying him.

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to get information," he says seriously, trying to keep her from fighting his battle. Auggie doubts the situation will deteriorate into the need for physical violence, but he could say some things that may jeopardize his continued employment. "I don't want you to sink with me if the ship goes down. Understand?"

Her eyes dart from his face to the Campbell house, then return to focus on him. It seems like she's questioning just how far he'll go for information, but even he isn't sure what's going to happen once the conversation with the Campbells commences.

Auggie tries to determine what phrase will have the best chance of making her stand down. Naturally, the one time he needs to convince her that she should wait in the car, for her own good, his mind goes blank. All he can come up with is, "You don't have to be a part of this."

She doesn't hesitate and looks directly into his eyes as she says, "You always have my back. It's time I return the favor."

"This is gonna get ugly," he warns.

"It doesn't have to," she responds softly, trying to appeal to the rational part of him.

He shakes his head. "Everything involving Arthur Campbell is ugly."

"I'm not staying in the car, Auggie."

He nods; were the matter not so serious, he'd surely crack a smile at her persistence. If she wants to help him, who is he to tell her "no"? A part of him is actually glad that she's so insistent. He could use the support. At least he'll have someone there to keep him from tearing his bosses' heads off should things start to go bad.

On the walk up the concrete path toward the house, Annie slips her arm through his, though she's not acting as a sighted guide this time—she's reining him back from storming the front door. He really does appreciate having her beside him. At least one of them is calm and collected.

They reach the front porch, and Annie releases his arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the minute changes she undergoes and wonders if this is how she always psyches herself up before heading out on a mission. Taking a few deep breaths, she squares her shoulders and ever so slightly tilts her chin down into her chest—a subtle way to make potential eye contact aggressive. Her fingers flex at her sides, reminding him of a sheriff itching to draw his weapon against a criminal in a standoff.

The side of Auggie's fist pounds against the front door three times. Annie arches an eyebrow in his direction, surprised at his forceful way of knocking. Maybe she's worried about what kind of approach he's going to take with the Campbells to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"I'm not screwing around, Annie," he reiterates truthfully as a final warning. "This is going to be hard and fast."

She nods and returns to her former, battle-ready position. "Right."

"You can still pull out."

A sly grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. "And leave you outnumbered? I don't think so."

There isn't time for him to make any sort of response because the front door opens, revealing Joan Campbell. Wearing a silk, kimono-styled robe over a pair of silky lounge pants and a camisole, his boss looks softer than he remembers. It makes him pause for just a moment to take it in.

"Your hair is longer, Joan," he says pointedly, noting how her loose, white-blonde hair falls around her shoulders, curving slightly against her breasts.

Joan opens the door a little wider, narrowing her eyes at him. He stares right back. "So, it's true then. You can see."

"But how. . .?" Annie begins to ask.

A step ahead of her—because there was only one spectator who could have revealed this morning's accident—Auggie answers with one word. "Stu."

"He was hired for his technical abilities, not his deception skills," Joan adds by way of explanation. "But, to be honest, I didn't think he was serious. How is this possible?"

The simple, seemingly innocent question strikes him and reignites his anger. So, that's how Joan's going to play it. He expected more from her—the truth. They've developed a certain level of trust over the years, and he thought they respected each other enough to at least be honest. Apparently not.

"It's a goddamn miracle, Joan," he responds sarcastically.

In their world, where even the slightest coincidence is called into question, miracles do not exist.

Joan does her best to appear confused by his heated comment, and her grip tightens on the lip of the door, as though she can close it and end this conversation as quickly as it began.

Annie sees her subtle motion, steps forward into Joan's space, and says low and evenly, "We should do this inside."

Their director looks from Annie to him, then nods once in agreement, turning and pushing the door open wider so that they can enter. When she closes the door, she says, "I wasn't expecting company. Let me just go change into—"

"No," Auggie cuts her off. He'll be damned if he's going to let Joan corroborate her lies with Arthur under the guise of changing into something more business appropriate. "I want answers now."

Joan crosses her arms and regards him with an icy glare. He remembers that glare. It used to intimidate him when he was still a rookie, though it doesn't make him squirm anymore. Maybe it would if he weren't so angry, but right now he's immune to classic Campbell intimidation tactics.

"Answers about what?" she asks. "I thought your vision was a result of this morning's accident with the telescope."

He points his finger in her direction so she understands that he has her pegged. He knows she's lying. She has to be. "You know damn well that an accident couldn't restore my sight."

"I'm not a doctor, Auggie. I can't tell you why your vision returned."

"Don't play that card with me, Joan. We both know you aren't ignorant," he says. "Now, tell me: whose bright idea was it to turn the blind guy into a walking camera?"

Her hands move from across her chest to the tops of her hips. Joan's head tilts slightly to the right, lips parted and eyes narrowed in confusion. "Auggie, what are you talking about?"

He pivots away from her, takes two strides in the opposite direction, and then turns around and steps back. His patience is vanishing at a rapid rate. Joan's attempts at stalling test the limits of his temper.

"The unauthorized tech in my head, Joan. That's what I'm talking about," he clarifies, trying to hold back his growing frustration and anger.

"I can assure you, I have no knowledge of—"

"Liar," Auggie snaps, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides because he doesn't know what else to do with them. He raises his voice so that the coward upstairs will hear him clearly. "I want to know what you and your conniving bastard of a husband did to me!"

Joan doesn't back down. She's probably one of the only people who has seen him this angry before. "I will _not_ have you take that tone with me, August. Not in my home."

"Oh. . ." he draws out in a mocking voice. "Proper names. I guess I'm in trouble now."

Annie—who until this point has been standing in the background, silent but attentive—steps around him, laying a hand on the center of his chest as a signal for him to stop. She leans in to his side so that she's closer to his ear and whispers, "Auggie. . .I don't think she knows anything."

A small part of him was starting to entertain that possibility—because the part of him that respects his boss wants to give her the benefit of the doubt and take her words for facts—but it isn't until Annie spells it out for him that he really starts to believe it might be true.

Somehow, Joan still hears Annie's words and uses his momentary hesitation to state her case. "I don't," she stresses. "You know that if I did, Auggie, I'd have said something."

There's a sincerity in her voice and in her body language that makes him want to believe that what she's saying is true. But, if Joan doesn't have the answers, if she didn't even know about the tech in the first place as she wants him to believe, his suspect pool just went from two to one. Arthur is the one with dirty hands.

When he remains silent, Joan continues. "If there really is some type of camera in your head, the culprit is someone higher than me. Someone _very_ high."

Oh, Auggie's sure of that, so he takes the opportunity to call out the one man who he's certain has the answers that he's looking for. "Where's your husband?" he growls with unconcealed contempt.

Joan scoffs at his insinuation and crosses her arms again, letting him know that his accusation isn't appreciated. "Arthur would have read me in on that."

"Because he reads you in on everything, right?"

And the stare-off begins. His comment is beyond insolent—calling out both Joan's professional and personal relationship with her husband—but he has a point, and Joan knows it. This wouldn't be the first time that Arthur has cut her out of the information loop. Auggie uses that knowledge to his advantage. He is not going to give up this fight. If Joan wants to defend her husband, he's going to be forced to consider her the enemy too; guilty by association, as they say.

He catches himself admiring Joan's ability to mask her thoughts behind an icy stare; she must have been one hell of an agent. After a few moments, though, curiosity glints in her eyes and her confidence in her husband's sharing of information falters. Auggie doesn't say anything, just keeps his eyes trained on hers until Joan turns away.

She walks calmly but tensely to the stairs and calls for her husband in that firm, commanding tone Auggie and the rest of the officers at the DPD recognize as an order. "Arthur?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I know this ends kind of abruptly, but I needed to split this chapter up somewhere because otherwise it would have been way too long. So, chapter four will start right where this one ends and should be up in a few days.  
><strong>

**Would love to hear your thoughts. Did Auggie's anger come across? He's such a sweet guy and we've only had glimpses of him being upset on the show, which is why it was so difficult to make him angry!**

**Also think I should add: After the next chapter, we'll start to move away from all this and focus on Auggie temporary vision. :)**


	4. Four

**So, it's been a while. . .**

* * *

><p>**FOUR**<p>

"Arthur? Can you join us in the living room?" Joan calls up the stairs. Her lack of adding a 'please' on the end of her request turns it into a vaguely-disguised command.

After a short pause, they hear footsteps creak along the ceiling as Arthur moves across the floor above them, heading for the stairs.

The Director of Clandestine Services looks like any other man trying to relax after a stressful day of work. The first things Auggie sees are white tube socks, the cuffs extending halfway up Arthur's calves. Then he sees the bottom of a blue terrycloth robe, which Arthur ties shut on his way down the stairs. His white undershirt and slightly unkept hair make him look like an actor in a Hanes advertisement.

The man might look innocent enough in this relaxed state, but behind those reading glasses is the crafty, manipulative mind of a man who uses any necessary measure to complete an assigned task. Auggie learned that the hard way when Arthur found out about his 'relationship' with Liza Hearn. From that moment on—if not before—Auggie knew that he had to be wary of Arthur Campbell.

"What are Walker and Anderson doing here?" Arthur asks as he nears the bottom of the staircase. The question is directed at Joan to make it clear that he doesn't think it necessary to address lower level officers who've invaded his private dwelling and interrupted his evening with his wife.

Auggie takes a large stride forward, squaring his shoulders and widening his stance past shoulder width. He refuses to let his presence be dismissed so casually. "I want to know what made you think it was acceptable to screw with my head."

Arthur feigns innocence, narrows his eyes ever so slightly in confusion. "In what way did I do that, Mr. Anderson?"

"By putting unauthorized tech in my head!" Auggie growls, barely restraining himself from shouting. He can't believe that Arthur is pretending to be clueless. It's infuriating.

Arthur doesn't immediately respond to Auggie's anger, or his question. Instead, he switches his glance from Auggie's eyes to Joan, points a finger at the formerly blind man, and remarks, "He can see?"

Joan nods at her husband's apparent disbelief. "Yes, he can, Arthur. And he seems to think that his sight is the result of something you put into his head."

"I don't have any idea what this is about," Arthur returns in a flat tone of denial.

_For a man who used to be an agent, he's a terrible liar_, Auggie thinks. Even if he were blind, Auggie would be able to tell that Arthur is lying through his teeth through the tone of his voice.

"Don't jerk me around," Auggie warns, feeling his nostrils flare. "I know about the camera, and I know you had something to do with it. What I want to know is why."

Joan steps in to try and diffuse the building tension in the room. "Tell him, Arthur. If it's true, he has a right to know."

Arthur eyes his wife as though she's just told him to put a gun in the hands of an unstable individual. His eyebrows first hike up in shock at her insistence, then pull down into a deep furrow. Auggie can tell that his superior won't give up the reason without a battle. He hadn't expected anything less from the DCS.

"That information is classified at the highest level," Arthur says evenly in a low voice.

"You aren't denying it?" Annie asks from behind Auggie. She sounds as shocked by Arthur's half-admission as Auggie feels. The fact that he's acknowledging that there's _any_ information to be had is a step in the right direction. But this conversation is nowhere near an endpoint.

Arthur moves away from the stairs, crossing his arms and frowning. He's probably wondering how best to handle this situation while maintaining order and authority.

"Arthur?" Joan asks, sounding slightly hurt that she was wrong about her husband's loyalties yet again. "It's true then?"

She starts to gravitate to where Auggie and Annie are standing just inside of the living room, making it three against one. Her head hangs in disbelief, her hair swaying minutely as she shakes it from side to side. Joan turns her back to them and faces the mantle over the fireplace to hide her expression. Auggie isn't sure if she's concealing anger or disappointment.

Arthur glances down, then back up at his wife even though she won't look at him. "I couldn't, Joan," he explains slowly, almost gently. "Not even if I had wanted to."

Joan whirls around, fire in her icy blues. "He's my operative!" she says forcefully. "I should have been informed."

"_You_ should have been informed?" Auggie exclaims. "It's my brain we're talking about!"

"Of course," Joan backtracks. "I only—"

Arthur interrupts his wife: "This information is a matter of national security. It's need-to-know, and that's the end of it."

_It most certainly is not the end of it_, Auggie thinks. He can feel his body reacting to Arthur's cold, apathetic manner. His face feels hot and tingly. The hairs on the back of his neck are raised. His breathing is heavy, and his palms are sweaty. Even unconsciously, his body is preparing for a fight-something he had hoped to avoid.

Arthur turns his back, heading for the stairs. It's not a retreat; it's a passive-aggressive gesture to tell Auggie that he's not going to get what he wants.

Auggie steps forward again, standing in the middle of the foyer, halfway between the living room and the stairs. His body practically shakes with the volatile cocktail of anger, adrenaline, and testosterone pumping through him. "So I didn't 'need to know' that you were using me as a guinea pig?" Auggie spits out in a harsh tone.

Arthur pivots and levels him with a no-nonsense glare. "This conversation is _over_."

If there is one phrase that would set Auggie off right now—would make him so livid that he'd resort to doing something stupid—it just fell out of his boss' lips.

With a guttural exclamation, Auggie lunges forward, closing the short distance between him and the DCS. His hands grab and latch onto the lapels of the terrycloth robe.

"Auggie!" Annie and Joan exclaim in near unison, one gasping in surprise, the other giving a warning.

"Who do you think you are?" Arthur asks in a dangerously low voice. He tries to bring his hands up in front of his chest between Auggie's arms in order to push his hands out and away, but Auggie retains a firm grip. "You are very close to crossing a _very_ serious line, Mr. Anderson."

In response to the quasi-threat, Auggie pushes Arthur up against the banister of the stairs. His eyes bore into Arthur's, and an angry sneer forms on his lips. "What gives you the right to put a camera in my head?" Auggie growls. He's done with Arthur's evasive tactics.

"You're demanding answers you know I sure as hell can't give you." Arthur's voice is surprisingly calm. His statements are firm, but not heated by the same fire that fuels Auggie's uncharacteristic outburst.

"Let's get one thing clear, Director," Auggie retorts, tightening his grip again. "I'm not leaving without an explanation."

"So you're going to force it out of me?" Arthur asks, barely containing a sarcastic laugh.

"If it comes to that," Auggie says. He hadn't wanted to resort to violence in order to get to the bottom of this, but now that he already has the DCS in his hands, he's not going to stop short of full disclosure.

Suddenly, another set of hands enters the fray. Pushing one hand against Arthur's chest and one against Auggie's, Joan manages to wedge her way between the two men. "That is enough! We are all civilized individuals here, and it's time to start acting as such."

With one last push she manages to break through to Auggie's rational brain and also through his grip. It's only after unlatching himself from Arthur that Auggie realizes Annie's hands are pulling him away from his opposite side.

"Take a breath, Auggie," Annie coaches in a whisper, looking into his eyes and holding onto his arm until he follows her instruction. Doing so brings a bit of clarity to his head and his rage dissipates slightly. This is not the way he wanted to go about this. Auggie doesn't know what came over him, what he was thinking, grabbing hold of his superior like that.

_Might as well say goodbye to being the head of Tech Ops_, he thinks belatedly. _Maybe the Company altogether_.

Instead of taking aim at Auggie's outburst, Arthur draws attention to the other casualty of his slip-up: "You've dragged Walker into your mess," Arthur huffs as he straightens his robe and runs a hand over his hair.

A flare of guilt spreads up Auggie's back at the remark. Because Arthur's right; he's the one that led Annie into this. Even though she was willing to come, he should have stopped her. This was exactly what he didn't want. Now he's jeopardized Annie's job too.

Annie must hear the snide statement because she speaks up in a firm, unwavering voice: "I'm a big girl, Director. I choose my own battles."

"Not very wisely," Joan puts in, though her voice doesn't hold any malice.

Ignoring Joan's comment, Annie turns her attention to Arthur. "Just tell Auggie what he wants to know."

Her request is not authoritative; it's more of a plea.

S_he doesn't want this to get more out of hand than it already has_, Auggie suspects. _Neither do I_.

Auggie regards Arthur with contempt, but he feels the corners of his eyes start to soften. He won't voice his plea for answers like Annie, but he tries to convey the urgency of his desire to be enlightened through eye contact with his director. Arthur is the first to break the connection by dropping his eyes to the floor. Auggie is familiar with that look: defeat.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room," he starts out, moving past Auggie toward the sofa in the living room. "If I hear one _breath_ of a rumor, I'll have you locked up so fast that—"

"Threat understood," Auggie cuts in as they all take up seats in the living area. "Just, get on with it."

Arthur does. With clipped words and as few details as possible, the DCS outlines why Auggie has a hi-tech camera in his head and how it got there.

Immediately after the discovery that Auggie had survived the explosion in Tikrit, word spread up the chain of command until it reached Arthur's office. Company doctors spoke with Arthur and informed him that the still-unconscious Auggie had been permanently blinded. It was up to Arthur to make the call on whether or not to subject his former operative to an experimental technology.

"You were the perfect candidate," Arthur explains simply.

"Except that you didn't have my permission," Auggie states. He's held his tongue up until now, but he can't help reiterating the point Arthur seems most intent on ignoring.

"The decision had to be made promptly," the other man responds, though it's a poor excuse, "so, I sanctioned the procedure."

Arthur continues his explanation about how the doctors lied and told Auggie they had to remove shrapnel from his head, but that some fragments couldn't be shifted for fear of risking his life. These 'fragments' are what Auggie saw on his CAT scan and deduced to be part of a camera.

"What was the camera supposed to be used for?" Annie questions when there is a pause in Arthur's speech. "Auggie was blind. He clearly wasn't going to be sent back to the field."

"No," Arthur agrees, shaking his head. "The technology was developed for in-house purposes."

"You were going to use Auggie to spy on our own people?" Joan asks for clarification.

Arthur nods once and doesn't elaborate.

Auggie decides now is the time to ask the question weighing on his mind: "Are the cameras still functional?"

Arthur actually smiles. Before Auggie has time to get riled up again, he says, "They stopped working two weeks after they were inserted. You had just been transported back Stateside. We never received any actionable intel."

"Seems anticlimactic," Annie comments.

Arthur shrugs and stands. "It was experimental. And a flop in this case. There you have it," he says extending his arms in an open gesture. "You have your answers. Now, get out."

Annie starts to get up from the sofa, but stops when she sees that Auggie isn't budging.

He's too focused on the DSC's phrase 'in this case.' That can only mean one thing. Auggie starts to feel his face flush again as the realization dawns that this injustice has been down to other soldiers, other operatives.

"How many others?" He manages to keep his tone contained and his volume to a respectable level.

"Don't press your luck," Arthur warns. "I've revealed everything that I can without this incident going down in your file."

A pardon—that's as much of an apology as Auggie's going to get. Part of him is satisfied with the little information he received and the half apology. It's better than not knowing anything.

Auggie glances at Annie, who's watching him carefully. "Let's go," he tells her.

"Okay."

They walk to the foyer in silence, but Auggie has one last thing to say before they leave: "Don't expect me in the office," he tells Joan. He doesn't give her a specific timeframe for his return because he isn't sure when he'll be back. He's unsure of how long it will take him to recover from his surgery.

Joan nods her consent. Auggie decides to take it a step further, push his limits just a little more while he can: "Annie won't be there tomorrow either."

He knows it's bold to speak on her behalf, to insinuate that he and Annie will be together tomorrow. Will they think that he's demanding her company because they're lovers? He hadn't considered that interpretation until the words left his mouth, but now he doesn't really care what they think.

_Let them believe whatever they want_.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Annie mask her quizzical expression, but Auggie remains focused on Joan. His boss nods again.

Arthur attempts to keep the status quo, saying, "This situation doesn't allow you the ability to make demands, Anderson."

"Arthur," Joan says curtly. She's the one giving the orders now. Auggie is her operative, and so is Annie. It is her decision. Arthur grumbles and retreats to the stairs again. Joan watches him ascend the stairs, then moves to follow him, adding, "I'll assume you two can find your way out."

Dismissed, Auggie raises his hand to the base of Annie's spine as a signal that they should go. He keeps his hand in place until they get to her car.

When he doesn't move to the passenger door, Annie stops and turns to face him. "What is it?"

Instead of answering her, he steps forward and wraps his arms around her, crushing Annie's arms against her sides so she's unable to return the embrace. He buries his face into the side of her neck. He's never been this close to her before, never held her quite like this. And it's nice. Her body is warm and soft; her scent inviting. He's come to know her through scents and sounds, but now he's added sight and touch to help him complete the picture. There's only one remaining sense he hasn't used to explore her. . .

"Auggie. . .?"

He releases her, realizing the hug lasted too long.

"What was that for?" she asks.

He brings his hand to her cheek, meaning to pat it playfully—to silently commend her on a job well done—but his hand touches her face and sticks; his pat turns into a near caress. Auggie loses his response somewhere in the back of his throat.

"I have to go," he says suddenly, his voice scratchy, raspy, like he needs a drink of water.

Annie looks confused.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says and begins to pull away.

"Wait," she says. "Don't you need a ride?"

He smiles. The whole world is accessible to him once again, even if for a limited time. There's no way he's not taking advantage of the opportunities he's been given.

In response to her question, he simply shakes his head. "Goodnight, Annie."

Then he jogs off, leaving her temporarily stunned. He glances back over his shoulder and sees her slow smile, the gleam of her perfectly straight teeth underneath the streetlamp.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" she calls out to him when he's halfway down the block.

_Tomorrow_, Auggie repeats to himself.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A few things. First, thank you to Cat and Phoenix, the betas who tried to help me get back on track with this story. Second, thank you to Beth and the other readers who pushed me to get back to work on this story; without your insistence and faith, it probably wouldn't have happened.**

**Honestly, I think I've edited this chapter to death. Even after all these months away from it, it couldn't be resurrected. However, I've decided to push through it for now and get to the stuff that I really want to write (in other words, the A/A stuff, lol), and fix this later. If you have any suggestions on what could be done with this mess, or if you could point out where I went wrong, that'd be a great help!**

**Or, any review that let's me know people are still interested would be nice as well. :)**


	5. Five

**Yes, I am back. And finishing this story. :)**

**I left this story off right before Auggie really had a moment to focus on himself and his temporary vision and just revel in the fact that he can see again. And all the A/A scenes, of course. **

**I asked a lot of friends, guys and gals, what they would do if they had "one day." For women, the answers vaired. Almost every man I asked responded, "sex and video games." Not really the answer I was looking for in regard to this, T-rated, story. XD **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>**Five**<p>

Leaving Annie and the Campbells behind him, Auggie jogs through the quiet suburban neighborhood until he hits a main street. By the time he manages to hail a cab, he has pushed the events of the past hour to the edge of his mind. If he focuses on the lingering anger and betrayal that led him to pinning the DCS up against a banister, he'll be stealing from himself, taking away the small window he has to appreciate the world around him with his own eyes one last time.

As the driver heads toward the heart of DC, Auggie marvels as the landscape around him morphs from high-end suburbia to downtown through the backseat window. His admiration of the city in the early moonlight catches the driver's attention, mistaking him for a tourist. Part of Auggie feels like one. It's like he's visiting a city he's only seen in brochures, the impressive buildings and monuments dazzling him as the cab weaves through traffic.

The driver leaves Auggie off close to the Lincoln Memorial; it has always been his favorite. Its familiarity brings him a sense of peace—not everything has changed. The world has remained mostly the same, despite his prior inability to confirm that belief with his own eyes. Squirrels still look like squirrels, cars still look like cars—though there are a few new models on the road now, ones he can't recognize. The biggest change is the fashion he sees around him; there is more neon colored clothing than there are neon signs in bar windows.

He sits on the steps leading to the memorial, watching as groups of visiting school students and tourists climb to the summit and back down, arranging themselves for group photos with the marble temple as a picturesque backdrop. There are a few couples out for an evening stroll, walking arm-in-arm, heads bent together to whisper their secrets.

_Don't take it for granted_, he warns silently.

They are, of course. No one here expects an accident to take away their sight, or worse, before the night is over. No one expects a visit to the Lincoln Memorial to be their final pleasant memory. The details of this night would be muddled, clouded; they would piece it together, but certain chunks would be inaccurate or completely imagined—wishful thinking.

He remembers an impromptu game of touch football before their orders came in. Was it Davidson that had tagged him down? Or was it Ortiz? Had Billy Rollins actually made that touchdown? Auggie didn't think he'd need to remember those details; he didn't realize it would be his, and many of his comrades', last game.

Auggie thinks of the other soldiers Arthur alluded to in his reluctant briefing. How many of them can't remember the details of their last game? More importantly, how many others have been turned into lab rats in the name of national security?

The statistics are frightening: nearly fifteen percent of non-fatal injuries suffered by soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan are vision related. If even a small fraction of those injured soldiers had these experimental cameras surgically inserted. . . .the number could be much larger than he originally thought.

A vibration in his jacket pocket prevents him from pondering the highly unethical actions of his employers any further. The number on the phone's display screen isn't familiar, but his voice software announces that the hospital is on the other end.

_Why would they be calling at this hour?_

Could it be that his neurologist discovered a serious complication, that he's one misstep away from permanent, or fatal, brain damage? On the other, less pessimistic, hand, maybe she's calling because her team has found a way for him to keep his vision?

_Now you're just working yourself up for_ _nothing_, he chides himself. Auggie raises the phone to his ear and speaks into the receiver: "This is Anderson."

"Hello, Mr. Anderson. This is Doctor Williams."

"You can call me Auggie, Doc. Or at least August."

"How are you feeling, August?"

"Just peachy." It's more difficult than normal to keep the casually sarcastic affect to his voice. "But I'm guessing you aren't calling at ten o'clock for a routine check in. What's up?"

She shifts on the other end, and he imagines her sweeping her lustrous red hair from one side of her head to the other, then resting her elbows on her desk. "I'm sorry, but I don't have good news."

Her words don't surprise him, nor her blunt delivery. Auggie wasn't expecting her to have conjured a miracle; he's already reached his quota this year.

"All right," he says. "Let's cut to the chase, why don't we?"

At his invitation, she prefaces the coming announcement: "After you left the ER, I consulted with several specialists about your case."

"And?"

"They all responded with my original conclusion: there are no viable options to retain your vision."

The blow hurts more than he anticipated, even though he consciously denied the possibility that he'd be able to keep his sight all along. It's never been a matter of if, only when.

Receiving no reaction, the doctor continues: "Believe me, August, if there was a way to preserve even a fraction of your occipital activity without endangering your life, I'd propose it."

"I appreciate it, Doc."

There's another pause on the other end. Then she responds, "You don't have any questions?"

Her tone implies she's disappointed by his resigned attitude. Maybe Doctor Williams expected more of a fight. He'd be happy to give her one too. . .if there was any chance that protesting her expert analysis would yield a different result. The fact is, nothing he can yell or shout will change the inevitable outcome.

There's only one question left to ask: "How long do I have?"

* * *

><p>The crowds thin out around midnight, bringing his people-watching to a close. Auggie leaves the memorial and takes the Metro to a stop two blocks from his apartment. Outside of the station, he stops by the newsvendor and purchases one hard copy of every newspaper available and every magazine he used to read: <em>Time<em>, _Wired_, _Esquire_, and _Maxim_. Auggie takes these publications to his apartment, makes a pot of coffee, shrugs out of his clothing except for his boxers, and makes himself comfortable in his favorite chair, ready to indulge in one of his most missed pastimes: reading. Of course he still reads with his Braille Reader and listens to audiobooks, but that's not the same as scanning over the words with his own eyes.

And there are certain things he can enjoy only as a sighted reader. _Hello, Ms. Maxim_.

* * *

><p>The only programming on TV at this hour comes in the infomercial format. If he had more energy, he'd force himself to get up, do something, go somewhere, and not waste the little time he has staring at the walls of his apartment, or worse, the inside of his eyelids. But the past twenty hours are finally catching up with him. His mind is heavy, overloaded; new images and familiar faces collide at high speeds like a NASCAR catastrophe inside his skull. He's drained from this reintroduction to the world, weary of knowing that in another day it will all be gone again.<p>

One more day. That's all his doctor suggest he take, and it is all the time he will allow himself. If he pushes it back any further, his resolve to go through with the surgery at all may falter, and backing out of the procedure is not an option. It was wiser to cement the time of the operation, even if it meant sealing away any surviving thread of hope in a box and letting it suffocate.

Auggie sinks low in his seat, tailbone near the edge of the chair, and spreads his legs wide. Through them he watches a woman pretend to be excited by a "revolutionary" fruit and vegetable juicer an older man demonstrates for the health-conscious insomniacs of the world.

His eyes start to droop, but Auggie catches himself. He needs to find something else to occupy his time or he'll lose precious sighted hours to sleep. And what would happen if he wakes up only to find out something shifted in his slumber and this already temporary vision was stolen prematurely?

_I have to stay awake_, he thinks, looking around the dark room for inspiration.

His gaze falls on a large box partially hidden at the base of his entertainment center behind his sparse DVD collection. He'd almost forgotten about that box.

He drags himself to his feet, then kneels next to the entertainment center and pulls out the dusty container. Auggie pops off the lid with his thumbs. Images from his past fly up at him and he expels a burst of breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding.

Auggie sits cross-legged, and pulls the contents onto his lap one at a time: pictures from his childhood; photographs of his family reunions; his friends from his Special Ops unit; letters and postcards from his brothers' vacations; his Purple Heart that his mother had insisted he keep and he didn't want; his favorite toy airplane—the one memento from his youth.

He has to stop several times because the hot tears burning in his eyes make it impossible to continue.

There's so much that he's forgotten, so much he's pushed down or out of his mind because the memories are too hard to deal with. He's thankful that he didn't get rid of this box; he'd wanted to, wanted to chuck everything right after he lost his sight, because what does a blind man do with pictures and letters he can no longer see? Not for the first time, he's glad that he listened to his mother and saved these few things.

He wasn't ready to let it go before. Now, he'll be able to find some closure. . .maybe.

Auggie has a sudden, intense need to see his family, to look at them while he can and take them in. He wants to see the photos of his nieces and nephews, to see how bald his father's become, to see how healthy his mother looks now that she's in remission.

He drags his laptop bag over to the coffee table, slides to the floor, and props a pillow behind his back. He sets the laptop on the haphazardly stacked magazines, a delicious anticipation growing in his chest. Recalling his mother's account information, he easily hacks into to her Facebook—though he's not sure if 'hack' is the right word since he set up the social media page for her in the first place. He's glad he never encouraged her to change her password every ninety days.

With a few more clicks, he's scrolling through digital photo albums of birthdays, christenings, Christmases, preschool graduations, and miscellaneous events that gathered the family together. It brings fresh tears to his eyes, but this time they are accompanied by a private, irrepressible smile.

* * *

><p>The sound of his apartment door sliding open and shut is what wakes him. Auggie bolts upright, bumping his knee on the underside of the coffee table and upsetting the pile of magazines. At the last second, he saves his laptop from toppling to the ground. With a mixed sigh of relief and drowsiness, he struggles to a more vertical position, cramped muscles protesting from his less than comfortable sleeping arrangement.<p>

"Sorry, I didn't think you'd still be asleep," Annie apologizes in a bright—went-to-bed-well-before-midnight—tone. "Your door was unlocked."

He grunts, scratches an itchy spot on the back of his head, then asks, "What time is it?"

Annie saunters over to the couch with more pep than usual, passing him a cup of coffee as she takes a seat. "About seven thirty. Thought we'd get an early start. Late night?"

She assesses the items strewn on and around the coffee table. He notices the slight double take she does when she scans over the magazines.

"Oh, Augs," she comments as she lifts his issue of _Maxim_ up by the very corner, letting it hang open and tempt him with the pictures inside. "Really?"

"No judgey-pants, Walker."

"Since I'm the only one wearing pants," she teases, pointedly looking him up and down, gaze stalling on his boxer-briefs, "I think I get to decide what kind I'm wearing."

Auggie crinkles his nose and takes the magazine from her grasp as he rises from the floor. "I'm a man with needs."

"What you need to do is go get dressed," Annie says, giving him a light tap on his backside.

He raises an eyebrow at her unexpected touch. There's a _get a move on_ urgency to her eyes, like a child urging her parents to rise at five o'clock in the morning so she can open her Christmas presents. Her grin slants to the right, trying to hide something.

_So, this is what she looks like when she's_ _being mischievous_. "What are you up to?"

"If you don't get ready, I'm never going to get around to showing you."

"Trying to surprise me?"

"You'll see."

"Yes. Yes, I will." He shares her warm smile before disappearing into his closet. A few minutes later he emerges wearing a fitted black t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

When he comes back into the living area, Annie's head peeks out from behind the issue of _Maxim_. "These articles are really something," she remarks, tossing the glossy magazine onto the coffee table.

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "Let's go."

Out of habit, he picks up his white pedestrian cane at the door, then stops. He looks down at it, debates about taking it with him, just in case. Then he hangs it back up on its hook, feeling the freedom of mobility settle in his chest.

_Not today_.

* * *

><p>They grab a quick breakfast on the way to Union Station Mall. For a while they stand, Annie's arm slung through his, watching commuters and locals mingle in the vaulted halls, rushing to catch the Amtrak train, or meeting with friends and business contacts. Then they stroll through the shops, going into a few stores.<p>

Auggie is determined to update his boring wardrobe and add a bit of color to his largely gray basics. He buys a few blue shirts, a dark green sweater that Annie says plays up his complexion, and a couple of graphic t-shirts from Hot Topic which Annie tries to talk him out of purchasing. After a lively debate, she admits defeat, and confesses that showing off his nerdy side with Mario and Zelda shirts is "adorable."

Except for the few items that give him a chance to relive his childhood and teenage years, Auggie passes over pieces that are too extreme. No neon tops or leather bottoms make their way into his garment bags, though Annie insists that the latter would be flattering.

* * *

><p>They drop off their shopping spoils at Annie's Volkswagen, exchanging the plastic bags for a picnic basket and a fleece blanket, then head for the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, something that he drove by last night in the cab, but has never seen in person. He was blinded before the project really took off.<p>

They find a stretch of green close to the new memorial to lunch. He spreads the blanket out while Annie slips out of her heels and starts rummaging through the basket. Along with sandwiches, fruit, and drinks, Annie produces something else from her bag of goods: a laptop.

"Thought we could use a little entertainment."

She presses play and the music he instantly recognizes as _The Dark Knight_, a movie he's heard three times, but has never truly watched. Of all the things she could have chosen, she's picked his favorite superhero film. He shoots her a wide-eyed expression.

"Surprise?" she says quietly. Her tone belies the knowing, almost cocky, grin that seems to yell _gotcha!_ in response to his reaction.

_So, this is the big reveal she had planned_. What can he say, besides, "You know me well, Walker."

Perhaps she knows him even better than himself, because it never would have crossed his mind to watch this movie, but now that it's started, he can barely look away.

Her face can only be described as smug. "Of course I do. And when this is over," she continues, "I've compiled a video of all the major events, news footage, and iconic photographs over the past few years. Thought you might want to catch up."

_Now _that_ is a surprise_. She was using Batman as a red herring. He should have known she was holding back her true gift.

Though it's not the first time he's ever wanted to kiss her, it _is_ the first time he's ever had to physically stop himself from reaching for her, from leaning over their lunch and taking her lips captive.

Instead, he settles for drawing her close in a one-armed hug. Something like admiration seeps into his words as he says, "And here I thought you actually got more sleep than me last night."

Her head finds a perch on his shoulder. "Coffee is one of nature's greatest gifts."

* * *

><p>By the time both films are over and they make their way to Connecticut Avenue, it's time for dinner. . .except, Auggie isn't overly concerned about eating. He can't focus on the different storefronts and restaurants they pass because a more pressing concern weighs on his mind: this day is coming to an end too quickly.<p>

The sun has sunk low in the sky, but he's not ready for the darkness. All he wants is a few more hours of light, a little more time to be in the company of Annie Walker and see every expression she makes, every line and curve of her body as she strolls along beside him. He's seen many wonders of the world, but right now he can't imagine anything more appealing than spending his remaining hours in the presence of this beautiful woman.

"See anything you like?" she asks.

"I like everything I see." He's not simply referring to the choice of dining options or his surroundings.

If Annie picks up on his innuendo - which he knows she does - she doesn't come back with her own zinger. He does notice the flash in her eyes, a playful smile quirking at her lips. In between their bodies, she swings their joined hands back and forth. Auggie revels in the feeling of her holding his hand.

Holding his hand and _not_ guiding him.

"What?" she pushes. "No appetite?"

"Not really."

"Aug, if there's something else you want to do, name it. We can eat food any day."

There are many things he'd like to do, but there isn't enough time: he'd like to go on the hike he had planned through the Andes; he'd like to go diving with sharks off the coast of Jamaica; he'd love to see the Northern Lights again; he'd like to see a summer storm fill the sky with lightning.

At least he can come close to the last. "I want to see the stars."

He watches as the initial shock of his request changes to bemusement and ends in something he recognizes as determination. "Well, I guess we're going on a little road trip then."

"Road trip?"

"If you want to really see stars, we can't stay in the city." She makes a wide circle with her head to indicate the street lamps, traffic signals, neon signs, and other electronic displays around them. "Too many lights"

She's right. There is too much interference from the manufactured lighting in the city to see the natural twinkling in the sky.

He thinks for a moment. "I have a place in mind. It's about an hour away."

"Let's get going then. We'll pick up some food on the way."

She grabs his hand and spins him around in the direction of the car, but he pulls back on her grip before she really gets her momentum up. She turns to look at him.

"Annie?" he asks, suddenly feeling nervous but also excited.

"Yeah?"

"Can I drive?" He hasn't wanted to get behind a wheel so badly since his dad taught him to do donuts in a plowed cornfield when he was fourteen. Belatedly he tacks on, "Please?"

"Sure." She shrugs. "Okay."

Frankly, he's floored by her lack of hesitance. Driving is probably high on the list of "don'ts" prescribed by his doctor, right under operating heavy machinery and having a bumper car free-for-all. He thought he'd have to beg her to hand over the keys, or at least utilize his best puppy-dog expression. But her response is so nonchalant that he might have just asked her if she'd like to grab a drink at Allen's after work.

"That's it?" he asks. "You aren't concerned I'll hit a pothole and black out or anything?"

Pulling her car keys from her dainty shoulder bag, she offers them with a turn of her wrist. "I trust you."

The _always_ is implied, but he realizes that it's been this way since the beginning. Her life has rested in his hands on numerous occasions, and this situation is no different. Not in her eyes, at least. For Auggie, the words hold a completely different meaning, a deeper one.

Using both of his hands, he cups the keys and the hand extending them, as though capturing a butterfly. Just as he respects the lives of the delicate creatures he used to hunt as a child, he respects Annie for entrusting him with her own.

His resistance cracks, and he can't hold back as he did at lunch. Annie doesn't shy away when he leans in, placing a chaste, but lingering, kiss on her cheek. His whispered _thank you_ is all encompassing, not only for loaning him her wheels. For the past two years, Annie has backed him in every endeavor he's pursued, whether she agreed with him or not. Not only does she make working days a pleasure, she reminds him every day that he is in the right place, that he accomplishes just as much, if not more, than his sighted counterparts.

Very soon, he'll need to be reminded of that fact again.

"Thank you," he repeats, because he needs to emphasize how much he appreciates her.

She pats his hands with her free one. "Just don't go too fast, Speed Racer," she warns in a breathy tone that barely qualifies as speech. "If we get pulled over, you're explaining why you don't have a valid driver's license."

He accepts her warning with a waggle of his eyebrows, then pivots, taking the keys in his right hand while keeping Annie's hand in his left. This time, maybe just this once, he's going to do the leading.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you for all the support, PMs, follows, reviews, favorites, etc. during my *ahem* hiatus. Words cannot describe how amazing the readers in this fandom are!**

**The last chapter will be posted either prior to the S4 premiere or shortly after. :)**

**Review?**


	6. Six

**Clearly when I said this chapter would be posted before the start of S4, it was a typo. It was supposed to read: S5. Time sure does go by quickly.**

**For all my patient supporters: the final chapter. . .**

* * *

><p>**SIX**<p>

Auggie quickly discovers that driving is not exactly like riding a bike. For his first ten minutes behind the wheel, he has to dedicate his focus on the mechanics of operating the Volkswagen hatchback, which Annie affectionately explains she's dubbed Clark. Though the car itself is familiar - having ridden as a passenger on various occasions - the driver's seat is foreign. How sensitive are the pedals? How does it handle turns? Where's the auxiliary port so he can hook up his phone and tap into his Mingus playlist?

Annie keeps quiet in the passenger seat. Even when his breaking jerks them against their seatbelts or he takes a turn so sharply that Clark's motor grinds out a protest, she doesn't put forth any criticism, verbal or otherwise. Though it takes him twenty minutes to find the beltway because he's using outdated mental schematics of DC's road system, she doesn't direct him or call him out on his pride. They are small victories, but she doesn't rob him of them.

Auggie considers telling her about his conversation with the neurologist, knowing that he can't put it off for much longer, but he is using too much of his concentration to ensure he doesn't drive them into a ditch to focus on anything else, small talk included. And once he's comfortably adjusted to Clark's personality - enough to relax into the canvas seat - he starts to wonder just what Annie's Volkswagen can do.

Out on the open road, he tests Clark's limits. With all four windows rolled down, Auggie pushes the accelerator well over the speed limit. It may lack the horsepower of some - if not all - of his previously owned vehicles, but it manages to pass the other cars on the road with relative ease. Maybe it's a little foolish to cruise down the highway in a four door with the windows open, but the wind is in his hair and puffing up his t-shirt, filling his ears with a hurricane of sound that blocks out everything else, Mingus included.

* * *

><p>Just over an hour after leaving the city, they pull off of the highway in rural Virginia, headed for their final destination. The road quickly transitions from asphalt to gravel to dirt. Clumps of scraggly trees thicken into a densely wooded area, forcing Auggie to weave between the trunks in a serpentine design. He's unfazed by the obstacles.<p>

Annie finally speaks, asking, "So, what's the story behind this place?"

"No story. It's just a place." Of course that won't settle her curiosity, so he adds, "I used to come out here and fish with a couple of buddies."

"You? Fishing?"

For a guy who loves to sit at a computer for hours and analyze lines of code for entertainment, he supposes that activity does sound a bit out of character. "It was more to sit around and drink beer," he appends.

"Ah," she responds. "That sounds like the Auggie I know."

Casting a sideways glance in her direction, Auggie notices how she can't seem to stop moving her fingers. She stretches them out, then curls them in, drumming them on her thighs, wiggling them as though she's typing on an invisible keyboard. Auggie wants to reach over and calm her anxious excitement, but his hands are cemented to the wheel. It's not because he's worried about navigating through the unpaved wilderness; it's because he knows what is about to appear beyond the tree line: Lake Manassas.

The trees drop away, revealing a large open area - the ideal space to park an RV for a no-hassle camping getaway. Patches of grass gradually fade into mud, which then transforms into a pebble-dotted bank that disappears under the glistening water. Lake Manassas is so wide at this point that they can only see a horizon of leaf-laden branches on the opposite shore.

Auggie slows the car to a stop at the end of the grassy portion of the clearing. Annie sits forward, at attention. Her expression mimics the way his chest swells with memories of happy times of growing up along the water in Glencoe.

"It's got nothing on Lake Michigan," he comments in a low voice, "but it'll do."

With a soft click, the passenger door opens, and Annie steps out. He pulls the keys out of the ignition, then climbs out too, coming to stand beside her.

There is nothing but fresh air, the calm waters of the lake, and open sky. And stars, of course. They blaze with an intensity he hasn't seen since those long-away nights in the deserts of Iraq. Gazing at the stars while he was half a world away had made him feel lonely, isolated, and small. The ones shining above him now give him a sense of comfort. They feel like home.

Annie dips her head from her stargazing and smiles. She side-steps a little closer and brushes her hand against his. Auggie takes it and entwines their fingers. They fall into awed silence in the hush of the summer night.

Lost in the celestial bodies above them, they stand in quietude until Annie's stomach prompts them to acknowledge their earthly needs. She slips away from him, ducks into the car's backseat, and re-emerges with their quickly acquired dinner: sushi-to-go and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Normally, they are the type to chat over a few beers, but tonight he feels wine is the more appropriate beverage choice. This is a celebration of all he's been able to do over the past two days.

A glint of silver flashes in her right hand, catching his attention and making him smile when he identifies the bottle opener she's produced.

"You always keep one of those in your glove compartment?" he asks, the amusement he feels coming through in his question.

She sets to work on the cork, responding with, "Have you ever tried to open a bottle of wine without one?"

She has a point there. "Not successfully."

"I have," Annie replies. "But, I've found a bottle opener is more effective than using tweezers and ruining a good book."

His rolling laughter disrupts the quiet darkness. "You're kidding."

"College," she shoots back with a nostalgic air that promises a more complete story at some future date.

There's something playful about her in the moonlight. Maybe it's the secluded location, away from distractions and the city. Maybe there's just something magical about this tranquil place. Whatever power is at work, he can't stop grinning or noticing just how beautiful the woman beside him is.

Annie presses the bottle into his hand, offering him the first swig. He quirks a lip and quips, "What? You don't have any glasses stowed away in your trunk?"

She shakes her head. "We'll just have to share."

"I don't mind a little backwash."

She nudges him with her hip. "First, that's disgusting - "

"Or romantic," he interjects. "All depends on your point of view."

She continues, ignoring his comment: "Second, we need to toast to something."

He has to think for half a minute, then raises the bottle and toasts: "To Stu, that clumsy, brilliant rascal, without whom none of this would be possible."

The strange smile that crosses her faces holds an underlying sadness, but she nods and echoes his sentiment: "To Stu."

* * *

><p>They sit on the hood of the Volkswagen, leaning against the windshield with the picnic blanket they used on the memorial lawn earlier in the day draped over their legs. The empty sushi containers rest between them, along with the finished bottle.<p>

It's close to two in the morning according to his watch, but he's not tired in the least. All Auggie can think about is the conversation ahead and the actual surgery looming ever closer. He needs to tell Annie, so he eases into the conversation.

In a soft voice he thanks her. "This is the best day I've had in a very long time."

Perhaps it is his words, or his wistful tone as he says them, but he easily captures her full attention. "What's on your mind?"

"Batman," he blurts out, the answer unexpected even by him.

That revelation only produces a hint of a laugh. "Only you would think of Batman at a time like this."

Frustrated with himself - for his inability to share his anxieties with the one person he knows will understand - Auggie hops off the hood and strides to the edge of the water. Annie follows.

"This isn't about Batman, is it?"

"I'm just disappointed I won't be able to see the last installment," he says, using the movie franchise as a vehicle to talk about the elephant that has followed them out to this secluded paradise.

"Maybe you can?" she hedges, toeing the damp earth with the tip of her shoe. "The surgery. . ."

"It's not optional, Annie."

"What if the doctor was wrong?" she questions. "What if it's not dangerous? Don't you think it's worth a second, maybe even a third, opinion?"

"I already spoke with the doctor again, Annie," he says more harshly than he intends.

"I'm sorry," she backtracks in a more subdued tone. "I'm sure you've considered every option."

"She's had specialists from all over the country looking at my case," Auggie explains, "trying to come up with an alternative."

"And?" She still sounds hopeful.

It hurts to have to crush that hope. "They've all said I should go through with the surgery."

A moment passes, filled with small nods as she accepts what needs to happen. "When?"

"One o'clock tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she throws back in shock. "That's so soon!"

Yes, it is.

"And that's why the next twelve hours are going to be some of my most precious."

Her head snaps up, tilting slightly to the right. Maybe it's because she's still processing the short time before his operation, or that he's choosing to spend that time with her in the first place, but Annie's eyes shine and shimmer in the moonlight.

"Auggie. . ."

"Please," he says, taking hold of her hands. "Please, Annie, can we talk about something else right now? Anything else."

Her jaw tenses, wanting to press the issue. He squeezes her hands and wills her to go against her obstinate nature, the part of her that won't let a topic go until all her questions have been answered, her objections suitably countered.

Annie takes a deep breath and shakes herself loose of the discussion. She glances out over the water for a moment, then inclines her head in the lake's direction. "Wanna go for a swim?"

It had crossed his mind on the drive out here, but he didn't expect her to go there. "I didn't bring my swimsuit."

"Neither did I."

Her one-sided grin is pure temptation. Her eyes dance with mischief, waiting for him to say something. She has to know that he's picturing her naked beneath the crescent moon, that she is merciless in her teasing. He can't decide whether her flirting is delightful or tortuous.

Auggie practically groans when he lays out the rules. "I'm giving you a ten second head start. After that, anything I see is fair game."

It's not a question. There's no haggling on this. He's her friend, and he'd never regard her as anything less than spectacular or demean her by reducing her to bits of anatomy. But, he is also a warm-blooded, living, breathing, human male. One who hasn't seen a naked woman - except in photos - in a very long time.

Annie initiates the countdown by pulling her shirt over her head. Auggie dutifully turns away, the image of her delicate lace bralet burning into his memory as he counts out his Mississippis and removes his own clothing. His t-shirt is one count. His left shoe, two. The right gives him trouble and takes up two more. Then he sets to work on his jeans, doubling the speed of his counting.

"Cheater!" Annie squeals on eight, as something small and white whizzes past his head. Her words are quickly followed by splashing and an expletive. "It's freezing!"

Good. He's going to need cold in a few seconds.

He regrets that thought when he actually plunges into the water, leaving his jeans and boxers on the pebble-laden bank. Annie is already waist-deep in the water, her arms crossed over her breasts, reminding him of Botticelli's Venus: innocent and sultry all at once.

She waits for him to catch up, and then they swim out further together, until Auggie's tip-toes can barely scrape the bottom and Annie has to tread water to keep her head afloat. Tilting the top of his body back, he looks at the twinkling lights in the pool of sky reflected above them. This is what he came here to see.

Annie's voice drifts over to him, hovering near the top of his head. "Did I ever tell you I'm a bit of an astronomy nerd?"

"Oh yeah?"

He can feel her hand displacing the water next to his body, can sense how close she is. With one hand she points to the sky, naming constellations. When she finishes pointing out all the clusters of stars she can remember, his focus switches from the sky to her face.

Everything looks a little backward from this angle, but Annie's chin tilts down so she can look into his eyes as well. Both of her hands find their way into his hair, playing the with silky strands as they ebb and flow. Underneath him, he feels the extra effort from her legs to keep her head and shoulders above the water.

He opens his mouth slightly, unsure of what to say in this intimate moment. Her eyes dart to his parted lips, then correct themselves to focus on his eyes again. It's hard to tell in this light, but he swears her pupils are dilated. Though it's been a while since he's had to read someone's body language, he's not rusty enough to miss the obvious signs of desire.

"Do you always look at me like this?" he asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.

Immediately she tries to school her expression, giving him his ah-ha moment.

"Look at you like what?" she asks, attempting obliviousness.

Now that he's confirmed her interest, he's going to see what other reactions he can coax from her. "Like you want me to kiss you."

Emitting a short, nervous, laugh, she kicks backward, creating distance from him and from his question. Auggie flips over so that he is facing her and strokes after her, closing the gap. Annie catches on and panics.

"Race you to the shore!" she exclaims, splashing away in a flurry of water and moonlight.

Initially caught off guard, his brain eventually processes her challenge. He starts after her, though she has a good lead. Even with his naturally longer stroke, he can't catch the little siren.

Auggie's not counting that as a bad thing. Just as he comes to shallow water, forced to stand and wade the rest of the way, he sees that she's already hit the bank. His eyes travel up her glistening legs and stop to marvel at her gloriously bare, rounded cheeks.

Yes, he's the winner here. He throws his right fist up in the air, thumb pointed up, thanking whatever power has supplied him with this gift. His eyes remain devoted to her rear-end.

Annie doesn't stop at the shoreline. She sprints off to the car, wrapping the picnic blanket around her frame like a bath towel.

Auggie exits the water, striding forward with an unabashed slowness. He is going to get a straight answer out of her, even if he has to play dirty and make her flustered before he confronts her again. By the time he reaches her, she's averted her eyes, but there's a rosy glow emanating from her face. She hands him his hastily discarded clothing that she must have scooped up from the bank.

To save her from further embarrassment, he slides on his jeans, sans underwear. He doesn't bother with a shirt.

"All clear," he tells her.

She turns back to him, clasping the makeshift towel to her chest. He stands, still dripping, with crossed arms and a pointed stare. "So?" he prompts. "About that look."

Annie inhales and exhales loudly, in mock exasperation. She considers his body language, the persistent lines on his face that convey just how much he's willing to push her to get an answer. She's so close to him that he can see wisps of steam rising from her wet hair into the cool summer night.

"I don't usually have to guard my expressions around you," she confesses, resting on the lip of the car's hood and looking up at him.

He raises his eyebrow at her telling response. "Please, don't."

Whether she's breathing through her mouth from her sprint to the hatchback, or if his steady gaze is unnerving her, Auggie is distracted by her lips once more. He traces the peaks and valley of her upper lip with his eyes, then raises his right hand to her cheek. Tentatively, he swipes his thumb over her lower lip, moving from side to side before returning to the middle and pulling away. His hand drops back to his side.

Slowly, his gaze travels back to her eyes, locking on. The intensity he finds there makes his breath hitch. To say he hasn't seen an expression like Annie's in a while would be a massive understatement; he's never seen anything like it. More than desire or want or need, the look in her eyes is uninhibited and honest and vulnerable.

Unable to resist, he closes the small gap between them and presses his mouth to hers. Annie's response is immediate and welcoming. The kiss is fast and powerful and doesn't stop until his head is spinning, forcing them to slow down and remember to breathe. She places quick kisses on the corners of his mouth, then nudges his bottom lip with her teeth. She's is ready for another round, but Auggie hasn't caught his second wind. He's having difficulty breathing at all.

A hot tear warms a thin track of skin on his cheek. Another falls from his other eye. Of course it would hit him - it was really only a matter of time before all the emotions from the last two days caught up with him - right during his pinnacle of happiness. Truth is, he's been putting this off for much too long, but he still does not want to face it. And he certainly doesn't want to break down in front of Annie.

She intuits that something is wrong and puts him at arm's length to better assess his sudden shift in mood. The smile slips from her face, her rosy cheeks immediately blanching. "Auggie?"

"S'fine," he chokes out, wiping under his eyes with the heels of his hands. His attempted smile wobbles before collapsing completely. The shaking moves from his mouth to his chin, down his neck through his shoulders. He's trembling for Christ's sake, and he can't make it stop.

Her arms circle around his broad shoulders and across his front, drawing him into her body. With his hands pressed against his face, Auggie falls into her willingly, harboring himself against her chest, tucked under her chin. He's forced to breathe through his mouth as he cries, because his nose is plastered against the hot flesh just under her collarbone, welded there by the water on his skin. It takes all his resolve not to openly sob.

She holds on to him - tight. Keeping him steady with her lean strength, soothing him by circling her thumb against his shoulder, bringing him back under control with the soft, unintelligible whispers she spreads into his hair.

I can't do this, he thinks, not sure if he means continuing to cry in front of Annie or going through with the surgery. Angry with himself, he grinds his knuckles into his eyelids until it is almost painful. The force he uses to eradicate his tears is so powerful that pinpricks of color - flashes of purple and blue - dance across the pitch black background of his curtained gaze.

More flashes. That's how this all started. They scare him into a sudden, breathless, unmoving silence. Only his heartbeat quickens.

Annie's fingers still at his sudden rigidness. When she doesn't unwrap her arms, Auggie steps back slowly, letting her hold gradually loosen and drop away. She re-adjusts her towel as he flattens his slightly damp hair.

Though the waterworks have stopped, Auggie still finds it difficult to breathe. He begins to retreat toward the lake. "I need a few minutes."

After a beat, she quips, "Maybe you can find my underwear while you're down there?"

Her teasing question doesn't completely mask the concern in her voice. An automatic, if half-hearted, grin passes over his lips, then vanishes.

* * *

><p>He spooks when she lays a hand on his shoulder. Out here in the wilderness, it's harder to hear her approaching from behind; there are no tell-tale heel clicks to signal him. That, and he's spent the past several minutes in deep introspection, trying to regain control of a situation that was never in his hands to begin with.<p>

She mistakes his silence for brooding. "Auggie, it's okay to be scared."

He bobs his head a few times, indicating that, yes, he is scared, and, yes, it's alright to feel that way. Auggie keeps his attention on the lake, unable to face this conversation head-on. "It's just sunk in," he justifies. "A few hours from now, I'll be in surgery."

"Brain surgery," she amends, pointing out the heightened risk of his operation.

"Right."

"I'm scared too," she admits. "Anything could happen."

He's sure that her mind has leapt to the worst possible outcome, that she's thinking about the experimental operation to remove the metal fragments that are inside his gray matter where they shouldn't be. Maybe she's wondering how he survived the surgery that put them there and thinks that his luck could have run out since then.

Auggie can't let her go down that path. . .then he'll start to follow her, and he can't have another breakdown. Not right now. He's not going to waste any more time crying over something that is unavoidable.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, he tries a signature, clever comeback. "You're right. I could end up blind."

Her reaction isn't anything like what he anticipates.

"Stop it!" she swears, her face flushing with a rush of color. Clenched fists rest at her sides. "Don't make this a joke."

What can he say? She's right. It's what he does to cope - turn his disability into something that he throws jibes at in order to shield himself against unpleasant, unwelcome truths. Long ago, maybe as far back as the first day they met, Annie caught onto his little charade, but she's never openly accused him of his cowardice before.

He decides to give her what she wants to hear: the truth. Above anyone else, she deserves it. "Annie, if I had a choice, I wouldn't get the surgery."

That one sentence admission reflects all of his frustration and heartache over being forced to lose his sight a second time.

And, just as he hoped, Annie understands.

"I shouldn't have said what I did earlier," she apologizes quietly. "I'm here for you. You know that, right?"

"I do."

She runs a hand through her damp hair, ripping through the knots. "This should never have happened," she says. "Those cameras should have never been put into your head."

"You're right," he agrees. "But - "

"But nothing, Auggie! They had no right. They can't just put unwanted bits and pieces into your head, into any of our heads. We aren't machines they can manipulate for their benefit."

"I know, Annie," he says, taking hold of her shoulders. He appreciates that's she's defending him, but he's past that for now. He doesn't want to think about it until after the surgery and the inevitable recovery. Once he's back on his feet, he'll go after Arthur and all the rest who decided it was okay to use him as a test subject without his approval or knowledge. "But - "

She starts to open her mouth to go off again, but he squeezes her shoulders and gives her a meaningful look. Her jaw slowly closes.

"What I was going to say," he continues, "was that this crazy, beyond frustrating situation has given me chances I wouldn't have had otherwise. I got to make my peace, that sort of thing. And. . ."

He doesn't know why his chest constricts on the word and, but he pauses long enough for Annie to echo his cliffhanger. "'And?'"

He still struggles with the words as he gazes down at her. One of his hands moves from her shoulder to finger a string of still dripping hair. "And I got the chance to finally see you."

Her eyes soften at his words. "Anything like you imagined?"

"No," he says. "I always pictured you as two parts girl next door, one part femme fatale, and one part bookworm, with the fashion sense of Audrey Hepburn."

"And that impression doesn't hold up?"

"You're less girl next door, more Amelia Earhart."

She nods approvingly.

"But I won't need to describe you using comparisons anymore. Now and forever more, you'll just be Annie Walker."

She smiles, then steps into his space and wraps her arms around him, laying her head on his chest gently. She whispers, "You're going to be fine."

He believes her. Even so, he hugs her as if it's his final chance to hold her in his arms.

* * *

><p>Across the lake, a warm glow crowns the trees on the horizon. Both fully clothed, Annie and Auggie sit in silence on the damp grass wrapped in the picnic blanket. They've spent the last hour talking about mundane, normal things: summers playing tag football with his four brothers in suburban alleyways, Chloe's first crush, catching lightning bugs in recycled peanut-butter jars. Work and the impending surgery are the two topics from which they steer clear. In the intermittent silences, Auggie listens to her breathing.<p>

A rumbling stomach alerts him that they need to head back to civilization soon, as he needs to report to the hospital well before his surgery. "We should get you some breakfast," he says.

"What about you?"

"Can't eat anything before I go under the knife."

"Oh."

The sky has lightened considerably in the last few minutes. Rays of light shine through the loose strands of her hair, giving it a golden glow that highlights her eyes. He doesn't know what this is - this blooming affection that has sprouted between them - but he's not going to question it.

"There's one last thing I'd like to do." He tries to make it sound casual, more like wanting to ride one more roller coaster before leaving the theme park, and less like the final request of a dying man. He's not dying today, so there's no need to sound melancholy.

Still, the words do come out more ragged than he'd prefer.

She doesn't hesitate. "Name it, and it's done."

He smirks briefly at that, because his mind immediately strays to the gutter with all the possibilities her statement invites. But he brings his train of thought back to his initial desire.

"Stand up."

She tilts her head at the simple instruction, but hops to her feet without questioning him, waiting for the next part of his request. When he remains silent, she starts fussing with her hands - a nervous tick he'll be sure to catalogue - unsure where to place them. She clasps them in front of her, then puts them on her hips in a Wonder Woman pose, and finally drops them to her sides again, grasping at air.

He smiles at her obvious discomfort, then rises to his feet. Slowly, he steps around her, circling her body, taking in every detail his eyes can drink in. He performs his visual sweep three times. With each circle, he inches a little closer, until he is finally only a few inches from touching her. He can feel her breath on his cheek when she speaks.

"What are you doing?" She's a little breathless. Funny, considering she's been standing still this whole time.

"I'm searching for something."

Her smile suggests that he's lost his mind. "For what?"

"Ah-ha! That!" he declares, bringing his finger to lightly tap the tip of her nose and eyeing her with a devilish smile of his own.

His actions make Annie's gaze narrow and her smile grow fonder. This is the image he will take with him into surgery, the one he will remember after his world goes dark once more: a smile so bright it could light up his world.

"What is it you've found exactly?"

"That look. It's back again."

"Is it?" she asks in an overly-innocent tone that tells him she's caught on to his game and finds it amusing.

He shakes his head in mock chastisement as his hands stroke lines up her arms. "You're insatiable."

"And what do you plan to do about it?"

"Oh, Ms. Walker, I always aim to satisfy."

His lips cover hers, but he finds it difficult to kiss her properly because he can't stop grinning. Neither can Annie.

* * *

><p><strong>It was never my plan to write what would happen during and after the surgery. This story was all about Auggie enjoying the short time he had to see again. That said, I don't see this as a "hard" end to the story. More could certainly be written. . .but not by me. (See where I'm going with this yet?)<strong>

**If this story has inspired you and/or your muse, if you want to use it as a start for your own fic, I invite you to do so. What happens next? I have my own imaginings of where the story is headed, but I'd love to read what others come up with, whether it is just a oneshot or a multi-chapter story. All I ask is that you reference this story and give me a heads up in a review or PM so I will know to check it out.**

**It has been wonderful to travel through this adventure together. Thanks for sticking with me! As for future CA stories, I have a few different pans in the fire, but I've learned one thing from "Flashes": finish it before posting. :)**

**Thanks again for reading! -Trish**


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